Free-falling
by THELEGOMack
Summary: Originally, this was a story I had submitted as part of a writing trade to a deviantART user; as in "they give me a synopsis and I write it." Since this is, in fact, a fanfic, I figured it could be appreciated here. So I gave it some off-the-wall-last-second title and called it a day. Enjoy!


**Originally, this was a story I had submitted as part of a writing trade to a deviantART user; as in "they give me a synopsis and I write it." Since this is, in fact, a fanfic, I figured it could be appreciated here. So I gave it some off-the-wall-last-second title and called it a day. Enjoy!**

* * *

Floating.

Normally, such a feeling would be a pleasant one: to be weightless, surrounded by such peaceful quiet. To be in a still freefall, at ease.

It _would be_ nice if it wasn't all Wheatley had been doing for God knows how long. The blast from the moon's surface had damaged a few things, including his internal clock, thus he had no sense of time.

_Oh, it's not all bad!_ he vainly tried to convince himself, _At least I've got company!_

He glanced over at the defunct personality core orbiting him like a small, annoying moon.

"I'm still in space. Space! I'm an astronaut! In space above Earth. Space. Space!"

Wheatley wished his communications system had been blasted too, so the core would stop talking to him! Good grief!

What he hated the most of all was that he could never go back. He could never go back to Chell and redeem himself. He didn't mean to almost kill her! Okay, sure, he had at the time, but in retrospect, it was one of the most moronic decisions he had ever made. Oh, how he hated the word _moron_. It irked him to no end. As endless as the void he was floating in. Okay, so some theories argue it _is_ endless, others say it _isn't_, and he was never sure which was more correct- but never mind that!

_The point is that she just... abandoned me here! All by myself! Well, with this annoying can of spare parts, anyway. If only I could return to her! Oh, what'd I give!_

"Space! Stars! Junk in space! Space!"

Space junk? He revolved away from the Earth just in time to see an ancient satellite solar panel collide with him and he was sent careening towards the planet!

He could finally go back! He would return to Earth to apologize to Chell and perhaps... win her trust?

A bright flame surrounded Wheatley's chassis like a superhero's cape. So he could go back to Chell as long as he survived re-entry into the atmosphere. Not like he was eager for the second part, but it's not like he had a choice, either.

Before he knew it, he collided with the ground...

_"Oof!"_

…before bouncing and hitting it a few more times...

_"Ah! Ouch! Ugh!"_

...followed by some relatively painless rolling into a hole above a large, collapsed building.

He opened the lids covering his light receptors to see a large, familiar room- he was inside the Aperture Science facility!

"Such luck! Oh, this is fantastic!"

But where exactly was this? An old test chamber, overgrown and decayed, just like a third of all the test chambers in the entire compound! He could be anywhere!

But there was another hole in the tile floor to his left- surely that had to go somewhere?

"Okay, Wheatley," he told himself, "just use your little, uh, handle things to propel yourself."

He thrust both handlebars on his chassis and he budged toward the hole.

"Good! Making progress!"

A loud, metallic creak rang out.

"That can't be good... Ah!"

The floor collapsed, sending Wheatley tumbling through pipes, metal supports and the ceiling of another test chamber.

"What the hell!" A panicked voice screamed from the right.

Wheatley looked to see a pale, brunette young man in a bright orange Aperture Science testing jumpsuit. He held the ASHPD in one hand and had the other gripping his chest like a vise.

"Hello!" Wheatley greeted cheerfully, to which the man walked over and grabbed him with the portal gun's zero-point energy field manipulator. He looked both perplexed and on edge; such an odd combination of emotion.

"Who are you?" The man asked.

"Name's Wheatley."

"Okay, Wheatley, _what_ are you?"

"Uh, personality core, I guess."

"Uh-huh. Why'd you come down from the ceiling and almost kill me?" That third question was certainly harsher.

"I just came in to... drop by!" Wheatley joked, but this just evoked a scowl.

"Since I'm here," he proposed, still in good spirits, "can you help me with something?"

"Yeah? What's in it for me?" The man growled as he clenched his yellowed teeth.

"Uh..."

_Come on! Think of something so he get me to Chell!_

"I can get you out of here."

"Really?" The test subject exclaimed, eyes wide, "You'd really get me out of here?"

"Yep."

"I'll move Heaven and Earth to help you, man! I'll do anything! _Anything!_"

Survive the fall to Earth and find someone who would do whatever it takes to help? Looks the lucky lightning struck twice, in an hour, no less! Or has it been two? Or a few minutes? Stupid broken clock.

But now was the time to hatch a plan. Surely Chell would have gotten out of the facility- that's what anyone would do in captivity, right? Even if they may be brain-damaged? Well, it would certainly be worth a shot.

Above Wheatley was a management rail; the same he had used to get around when he was with Chell! Perfect!

"First, reach up and get me on that rail."

The man aimed his portal gun upwards and attached Wheatley to the plug.

"Okay, now what?" Asked the edgy human, scratching his left ear.

_Do the same thing you did with her._

"Follow me."

This test chamber, including the rail, was severely dilapidated. Vines hung down from gaps in the ceiling; the sign near the entrance was a dark, cracked screen; patchy sunlight came down from the sky far, far above.

So many missing wall tiles- so many ways out!

Wheatley searched the facility's management rail network, looking for the closest path to the surface. A clear path formed from this test chamber- Chamber 21, apparently- through a small maintenance area, cryogenic storage and finally a stairwell to the outside. That second-to-last stop sure sounded intriguing.

"Found an exit path!" He exclaimed, "So now we can leave, uh..."

"Name's Dan. Or Number Sixty-Seven, as that creepy supervisor likes to call me."

_GLaDOS? She can't know I'm here!_

"She's still running this place?" Wheatley cried, "Hide me, Stan!"

"Calm down!" Came an angry response, "I've smashed the security camera on the way in here. God, she's creepy. And it's Dan, dude."

"Right. Eh, sorry, Sam."

"Now you're just mocking me, aren't you?"

"No! _No,_ Dan. Sorry."

"Right. Now get me out of this dump."

How was Dan supposed to follow through such a small opening? Wheatley looked back at him. He's certainly too big to fit through one square foot, really.

_His portal gun! Of course!_

"Dan, shoot a portal in there."

"I can do that," Dan said, "I've gotten through over twenty chambers without getting burned, shot, crushed or exploded, so I'd say I know what I'm doing. You're just my guide."

He swiftly made his way into the maintenance area and onto a narrow metal catwalk. Wheatley followed through on the rail. He made his way to manufacturing before calling out to his comrade.

"I'm not deaf!" Dan groaned, "You don't have to call to me with every turn. This place isn't exactly labyrinthine to begin with. Idiot."

At least he didn't use the word _moron_.

The two approached a blast door labelled "cryogenics," which opened as soon as Dan activated the motion sensor. A cloud of cold white mist left the room inside with a loud hiss. No scanners? No identity checks? Surely a room like this would be more heavily guarded! Well, the easier this task was the better.

Dozens of capsules lined the wall of the large chamber, most of them empty. A few, however, still had occupants.

"Whoa!" Dan gasped, "Where's the rest of 'em?"

Before Wheatley could answer, there came a voice he never wanted to hear again- _her._

"Number Sixty-Seven? How long are you taking on this test?"

"Crap! It's the supervisor!" Dan cried.

"GLaDOS?" Asked Wheatley.

"Gladys? You mean that psychopath has a name?"

"Yep! We've gotta go, mate!"

He looked around frantically. Where is the exit? There should be an emergency door somewhere in here. Wait... there! To his right by the storage capsules!

"Over there! The exit!"

"I've got it."

Dan dashed to it and searched for some kind of emergency override; his face told that he came up empty.

"How do we get this thing open? It's an emergency exit, for God's sake!"

"Your vital signs are skyrocketing," chimed GLaDOS, "and it's certainly not the reward center of your brain acting up, so assume you haven't completed the test. What are you doing?" On the bright side, there were no security cameras here.

"Um... plug me into that socket over there!"

Dan ran over to Wheatley (as fast as he could with those long-fall boots, anyway) as he detached himself from the rail.

_He actually caught me! If only Chell could have done the same..._

Dan plugged him into the nearby core input receptacle before rushing back up to the door, still looking for a way to open it.

"I'll get that," Wheatley offered triumphantly as he looked through the cryogenics interface.

_Let's see here. Temperature control... data cache... subject information... transfer- transfer what? Maybe it's got to do with the exit?_

"Dan! I think I found it!"

"Great!" Dan yelled and tried to pry the door open. Meanwhile, Wheatley looked into the "transfer" function. A prompt appeared, asking to choose between three specimen numbers- presumably the last of the humans in cryogenics at the back of the room.

_Something tells me this isn't about the door. Well, there's no harm in trying, I'm sure._

He selected the second option and a male announcer came on the intercom:

_"Transfer requested. Transfer cannot be reversed. Do you wish to proceed?"_

The voice of GLaDOS came back on.

"So it looks like you're trying to transfer, Sixty-Seven. I don't see why you would need to do that..."

It's a good thing she didn't know Wheatley was there.

"...wait. It's _you._"

Oh, no!

He had to act quickly. No matter what "transfer" does, it would most likely help somehow. The sooner he could execute the command, the better.

"Yes! I do wish to proceed! Accept! Accept!"

_"Transfer request accepted. Pending."_

For a moment, everything was still. It's as if he was floating again. Before he could decide on whether he liked the feeling, it ended. What came after, though, was a surreal sense of... vague strangeness. Not like he could identify anything that was wrong, it was just... something. It all came to him when the cryogenic pod flew open, along with a bizarre realization as to what "transfer" did.

He was looking at his formal self: a personality core, empty and literally powerless. He looked at the reflection in the convex glass lid of the pod to see himself- a dark-haired, blue-eyed young man.

_"Transfer complete."_

And it couldn't be undone. What did this mean for him? He stepped out of the capsule on trembling legs. Dan stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Holy hell... what was that?"

He took a moment to steady himself.

"I'm human, apparently."

"And- and you've got the same accent, too! How does that- forget it, I got the door open. Let's go!"

He ran out ahead as Wheatley followed. Walking just felt so... weird! It was a wonder he could do it so well- perhaps the transfer hadn't totally overridden this subject's subconscious.

The duo sped up flight after flight after flight of metal stairs. Surely the surface wouldn't be so far above them! Wheatley was quickly tiring out.

"How many bloody stairs do we have to climb?" He groaned, and noticed GLaDOS had been quiet for longer than usual.

"Just a few more flights, I guess," Dan replied, also sounding exhausted.

Before long, they reached a faded blue push-bar door. Dan's eyes widened and his grin stretched ear-to-ear.

"I'm finally getting out of here! Oh, God, this is what I've been dreaming of!"

As if in response, GLaDOS came back on the speakers below. Her voice oozed with disgust.

_"I don't need you. I have hundreds of other test subjects! Thousands!"_

Without even listening to her, Dan slammed the door open and slowly stepped out into the warm night air.

Soft blue light draped the countryside beyond an archaic fence, rusted and twisted. The faint lights of a city twinkled even farther beyond.

Dan threw down the ASHPD, removed his boots and ran off into the night, screaming, laughing and whooping. He didn't even say goodbye!

So, that was it? They had escaped from the Enrichment Center in under an hour? Wheatley was certain Chell had never had it _that_ easy. He'd have to ask when he... meets up with her. He could finally apologize! After all this time away from her! He was tingling with excitement.

• • •

Dawn reflected off a huge cobalt spire in the middle of the city. The thing must have been literally a mile tall! It had an elegant, triangular shape, reaching high above the thin clouds surrounding it.

_How long has it been here?_

"Hey!"

Wheatley directed his attention to a young woman in a green button-down shirt and dusty denim pants, waving to him from in front of a broken-down pickup truck.

"Hey, there. You okay?"

His patient's gown must have been worrying her for some reason.

"Yeah. I'm looking for someone. Tall lady, probably wearing some orange, a white tank top. She's also probably got brain damage, too. You seen her around here?"

To his surprise, she was already running up in his direction. Maybe she had known her? Maybe she just wanted to introduce herself first? Of course- people think of nobody but themselves.

But when she got close enough, he noticed- it was Chell.

_Now's my chance!_

"I've heard your voice somewhere," she said when she arrived, "who are you?"

"It's me! Wheatley, luv!"

She snorted, waiting for some kind of punchline, he supposed. When nothing followed, her eyebrows were raised.

"You- you're serious?"

"Yep. I did this 'transfer' thing, and- here I am now!"

"Wow!" She gasped, mouth agape, "No kidding! Forgive me for this."

The last sentence confused him until she brought her fist back and slugged him in the jaw. For someone in stasis for so long, she was strong! His head spun as he turned back to her.

_"What was that!?"_

"You deserve it," she replied coolly, "You did try to kill me, after all."

"But I was going to say I was sorry!"

"Consider that my acceptance for your apology, then."

Good thing she took that so easily.

She then asked, "Why are you here anyway?"

"Pardon?"

"I know I should be concerned more with 'how,' but why did you go out of your way to reach me?"

"I just came out here to say sorry for... you know, when I tried to kill you. It's all I've been thinking about since you sent me to the moon! By the way, how long have I been away from you?"

She still seemed cross.

"Nine days."

Really now? It had felt like years.

"So you came down all that way just to apologize?" She cried, "I mean- I applaud your determination, but..." She sighed. "Look, come with me and we can talk about this later. Save your questions."

A menacing, dark cloud sat to the West. Thunder crackled.

• • •

Chell put one hand on one of many white doors lining the musty hall. She unlocked the bolt and turned the handle with the other.

"This is it," she said quietly as she and Wheatley stepped into a brightly lit apartment. "My place."

As far as living spaces go, this room really looked terrible. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, revealing the wall material underneath. The hardwood floor, while in relatively good condition, was dusty and uneven. A singed Companion Cube sat in a corner. At least the furniture, little that there was, looked functional.

"Fabulous, isn't it?" Chell said sarcastically, "It may not beat that 'extended relaxation vault,' but at least I'm free, right?"

Two sets of footsteps moved from one side of the corridor outside to the other.

"So now that we're here," she said, "You got any questions?"

There were just so many! Wheatley decided to ask the first that came to his mind:

"Why haven't you spoken to me at all?"

She thought for a moment.

"I was just pissed off at my situation and didn't want to give GLaDOS- or you, for that matter- the satisfaction of winning an argument. Or something like that."

Made sense to him. He nodded in understanding but soon asked anyway, "So you're not brain damaged?"

"No."

"And you just didn't speak because you were angry?"

"Pretty much."

"How about when you first woke up? I asked you to say 'apple,' and you just, uh, jumped?"

"What, you think twenty-nine years of stasis didn't affect me?"

So she found out how long she'd been out. Good for her.

"I guess you can tell your story, then," he said after a period of silence, and she leaned back on the wall.

"Actually," he offered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking couch on the the end of the room, "how about we sit down over there first?"

"Good idea," she agreed.

A good idea? _Of course it is. All of my ideas are splendid._

They both sat down as Chell began to speak.

"It didn't take me long to spot this place when I escaped the enrichment center," she explained, "you know, with the giant structure in the middle of the city. At first, I was so worried that is was so different from when I last saw it, but I was just so happy to see actual people out here after all I've been through!"

"Good to hear, luv."

"Yeah."

"I saw someone at the enrichment center just last night."

She looked at him in surprise. "Really? Who was it?"

"Some test subject named Dan. He seemed a little crazy to get out."

"I can see why!"

"And let's not forget the bloke whose body I stole. Don't know who he was."

"That reminds me," she looked away for a moment, "how do you like your new self?"

He thought about that. He was never particularly fond of humans, but he liked having an actual body rather than a chassis. His vision and hearing, now natural and not simulated, were much more clear. He could also move around freely and pick up things. With working hands, he couldn't begin to think of all the wonderful things he could do!

"It's pretty nice," he said, "I can do humanly things; take, for example, scratching my nose."

She chuckled at this before thunder crashed, exciting them both.

"How about we get something to eat, huh?" She asked, visibly nervous, before picking up a metal object from a nearby table. Perhaps she didn't like the rain.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

Raindrops began to strike the windows.

• • •

"I hate stormy days!" Chell muttered as she pulled her jacket tighter.

"And why is that?" Wheatley asked.

"Well, I didn't like then when I was a little girl. Since I was kept prisoner underground until my twenties, I never got used to them. It's the thunder, I guess."

The two passed under a wooden banner with _Welcome to Marquette!_ sloppily written across in fluorescent, apparently water-resistant orange paint.

"Where are we going, again?" He asked, looking around at a few people walking by on the other side of this deserted street. A tarnishing metal barricade blocked the street ahead.

"To a bar I visited yesterday," she answered. "They may not have much variety, but what the heck, right?"

He approached the barricade ahead and waved. A broad-shouldered African-American man raised his head and waved back before moving over to a higher ledge above the large metal doors. He wore a hefty-looking Kevlar vest above a blue shirt, along with a bulky cobalt assault rifle strapped to his back.

"Who's the guy with you?" He called to her, and she explained Wheatley as "a friend." She considered him a friend now? Maybe she was finally warming up to him. He smiled at the word.

"Come on through, Chell. And your friend, too."

"My name's Wheatley."

"Right. Have a good evening."

He reached down at an unseen door control and the barricade slowly opened to reveal the rest of the street, just as deserted.

"You know," Wheatley said as he and Chell walked through, "Looking at the outside from the enrichment center, I don't quite remember the world being this... empty. Well, I sure did shortly after GLaDOS came online, but I never figured out why."

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough," Chell replied when they came to the entrance of a small restaurant building and walked inside.

Compared to the outside, this place was rather busy. A couple sat at a booth, speaking to each other quietly; three children laughed and joked together near the window.

Wheatley took this in while Chell approached the counter.

"What kinds of food do you have today?" She asked.

"Some fruit, a few military ration packs, lots of headcrab meat-"

"What's a headcrab?" Wheatley asked.

The bartender looked at him like he'd just inexplicably spoken Portuguese.

The bartender turned to Chell and said, "You said you're from the old Aperture Science facility, right?"

She nodded.

"Well that explains it." He said to Wheatley dismissively, "It's a long story, sir. Go ask somebody else."

_Oh, I'm sorry. Am I wasting your time?_

"Anyway," he said to Chell, "As for the fruit, we've got six pears and nine apples. Fifteen dollars or one bullet apiece. A buckshot shell can get you both, and then some."

She placed a pistol magazine on the counter, removed two bullets, and handed them to him. He turned to a refrigerator behind him and pulled out two surprisingly very fresh-looking pears.

"They're all yours," he said as she took them and made her way to a nearby table.

"I'm impressed," said Wheatley as they sat down, "You've only been here a week and you've already gotten it figured out. Congratulations, luv."

She muttered a halfhearted "m-hm" shortly before a cheerful-looking man, possibly in his late fifties, took a seat across from them.

"You look new," he told Wheatley, "and I noticed you came from the Aperture Science building a-ways out. At least, that's what the logo on your gown tells me."

He had never taken off his patient's gown the entire time he was here! Unbelievable!

"Assuming this is the first time you've been on the surface in a few decades-" the man continued, "Like almost everybody coming out of there as of late- you're probably confused. Aren't you?"

Considering the look he had gotten for not knowing what a 'headcrab' was, he nodded.

"Then let me tell you about our history first," the man said, and Wheatley looked to Chell for some kind of advice.

"Why not?" She asked with her mouth full of pear, and nodded at the man to go on.

He proceeded to tell a story of how, in the early 2000's, an alien race known as the Combine (_So they're the blokes who put up that big blue tower?_) invaded the planet Earth and defeated all defenses in only 7 hours. Earth had been enslaved for the next two decades before a man named Gordon Freeman travelled to a troop production facility in Europe and destroyed it, sparking revolution across the globe. Then he made his way to the Arctic circle, where the abandoned Aperture Science vessel _Borealis_ contained portal technology necessary in the destruction and retreat of the entirety of the Combine. Nine years after the human retaking, there they were, living in the shadow of modern civilization. Though alien life, such as parasitic headcrabs or ravenous antlions remain, humanity thrives.

"Great story," Chell said when the man was finished. She nudged Wheatley's shoulder and said, "Let's get going." On her way out, however, a burly man blocked her path.

"You goin' somewhere?" He sneered.

"Uh, yeah," was her sarcastic response, "so could you be a dear and piss off?"

Now, Chell had never been prone to making bad decisions, but getting sassy with a man resembling a silverback gorilla was a very poor idea.

"Don't be such a bitch," he muttered, and Wheatley began getting very angry. It's as if he was a part of a central AI again: vague anger coursed through his system as he tried to get Chell to jump through hoops for him like a sheep. Of course, now he had much respect for her and his anger was acute.

"Hey!" He cried, "You can't talk to her like that! What gives you the right?"

"Shut up, you moron."

That did it. Rage boiled up in his chest like molten iron.

_"I am not..."_ Wheatley reached blindly over to his right and curled a shot glass in his fist. _"...a moron!"_

He threw down his arm and sent the glass flying, where it exploded on the side of this brute's head.

• • •

"You need more ice?"

"No. No, I'm okay."

Wheatley looked hazily up at the ceiling of Chell's apartment. Even after three days, Wheatley's nose was still a little sore from the recent brawl he had with that rude, burly ape of a man at the bar. It took three other people- including the bartender, Chell and another bystander- to break it all up.

"What made you flip out like that?" She asked dryly. She wasn't exactly taken off her feet by his act of blind, stupid heroism- scared her out of her boots, maybe, but certainly not impressed. Grateful, but not happy.

"He called me a moron, is all."

"That's _it?_" Her tone was dreadfully bitter.

"Yes, that's it. So what?"

"You can't be serious! Are you kidding me?"

Wheatley stood up from his seat on her sofa.

"No, I'm not. You know I hate that word."

"Maybe, but it's just a _word,_ Wheatley! It doesn't give you any right to smash a drinking glass into another man's head like that!"

"But you don't get it!"

"I bet!"

_"You don't!"_ His harsh voice took her by surprise. "It really does affect me. Of course you don't understand; you never understood me! Ever!"

"What-"

"You'd just drag me along with you, looking for an exit. You never got to know me!"

She tried to speak again, but he would have none of it. Something inside made him so angry. It reminded him of when he was an AI, an entire facility and arsenal at his (then metaphorical) fingertips.

"You don't know me, and you never will. I should have left. I just came back here to apologize to you, but I got something more: I got to understand you as a person, but you never returned the favor."

"Favor? Wha-"

"I should have never have come with you here. You aren't worth my time."

She wore a grim expression of disbelief.

"You're leaving," she growled before grasping his arm and shoving him out the doorway. "Get out!" She cried, "Get out, why don't you? If you don't need me, then I don't need you!" She slammed the door closed and locked it behind him.

• • •

On a steel bench at an ancient bus stop, Wheatley fumed. He simply didn't need Chell anymore. He had apologized and that was it. All that could be done would be either to leave Marquette or make a life here. Of course, the former couldn't be done for "his own safety." What's the worst that could happen if he left?

The PA system a few blocks behind him crackled to life.

_"Attention, citizens! The clock's at twenty-one hundred hours, and the curfew starts in ten minutes. Anyone caught outside, with the exception of guards and scavengers, will be subject to prosecution. So close up shop and finish whatever you're doing, 'cause you'll have to get inside now. You will be warned again in five minutes!"_

The system clicked off as a group of people nearby parted ways. Wheatley, on the other hand, stayed put.

A man in some kind of police uniform walked up to him. He had a gas mask in one hand and a baton in the other.

"'Scuse me, sir, but you'll hafta get to your house from here."

"To hell with your curfew!" Wheatley yelled bitterly.

"Hey, bud," said another officer behind the first, a blonde woman with a thin Canadian accent, "we're not kidding. Haul ass!"

_And I thought Canadians were polite._

Wheatley refused to move until she held up her baton and shook it, and the end lit up with a powerful electric charge. He then begrudgingly stood up.

"Good. Now get back to your home, sir."

"My housekeeper kicked me out."

The two police officers looked at each other, confused, but offered a solution.

"There are lots of empty houses and apartments up for grabs," said the blonde. "At least, the ones that aren't destroyed or decayed. Get moving."

He looked toward the South at the outskirts of the city. Surely he could leave Marquette from there! So he made his way to the barricade nearby. Thankfully, there was a ladder on this side, so he could climb over...

_"What the hell are you doing!"_

By the time the officers had taken notice he was up and over, running for the city limit. The Canadian officer got onto the barricade and manned a spotlight as the other called out on a megaphone:

"Get back here! You don't have certification to leave!"

Wheatley stopped and turned around.

"And what are you going to do if I leave, copper?"

"We're going to hunt you down and jail you. Trust me, you'd rather let us find you than anything crawling around outside. What d'ya thing we've got these big steel barriers for?"

That second-to-last sentence actually made Wheatley question his decision for a moment. He was as curious of these so-called "headcrabs" as he was intimidated by them. Plus, why was he still in Marquette? He didn't need _her_ anymore. He turned back to his objective and bolted.

"Somebody stop him!" He heard the male cop cry before saying into his headset, "This is officer Dallas. Somebody just vaulted over the South barrier...!"

Ignoring the sirens that began to wail, Wheatley just kept running. He passed countless houses, a church and what seemed to be a factory, all abandoned. After a few minutes, he had slowed down to a jogging pace, still out of sight of the city limits. Why were the barricades places so far into the urban areas?

The heavy whirring of helicopter blades came from above and begin him. It must have been a police helicopter! He looked around frantically before taking note of a dilapidated bungalow. He dashed over, kicked the door in and hid inside.

Compared to the inside of this house, the outside was in fine, fine condition. The home was almost entirely devoid of furniture; anything not bolted down had been either taken away or or blasted to smithereens. A large hole had been blown into the ceiling and floor, as if something had crashed from the sky. The faint, rotten smell of burned flesh filled the air.

The helicopter was still outside, now hovering above the house. It would surely see him through the gap in the roof! Wheatley ran to the nearest door and opened it to reveal a darkened stairwell to the basement. Though foreboding, any hiding place would be better than being discovered and prosecuted, right?

_This is a chance I'm willing to take._

He swiftly closed the door behind him and began to descend the stairwell. Unfortunately, he missed a step and tumbled to the bottom.

"Ow! Okay, that wasn't good!"

He painfully stood back up and looked around this murky, odorous cellar. Rotting wooden shelves lined the far wall, all empty. The concrete flor was cracked and chipped. The most captivating here, though, was a large, black mortar shell crashed into the middle of the room. This must have been what caused the holes in the first floor. This was soon seconded by a partially charred corpse leaning against a far wall, reeking of death.

Carefully avoiding this shocking sight, Wheatley made his way to the shelves where he sat down. He could still hear the helicopter outside.

_I just have to wait until it passes and I can get out of this dank place._

He sat for minutes as he listened for the chopper to leave. It was very lonely in here...

_It's so dark! Where's the light?_

He stood up and fumbled around for a moment before his hands found an electric generator, most likely connected to an electrical system. That is, if it still worked at all. He felt a lever and pulled it hastily.

Thankfully, it was connected to a light source. The bulb in the ceiling flickered to life and bathed the small room in a soft, yellow glow.

What he wasn't thankful for, however, was the body on the opposite wall.

Its chest looked to have been pried open; the internal organs were all visible and the ribs had been split apart at the middle. Its fingers were long and grotesque. But what caught the most attention was a basketball-sized brown animal attached to the head, covering the presumably uglier face of the corpse.

_That must be a headcrab._

Wheatley shuttered.

"Hey!" Yelled a muffled voice from above, "The lights in this house just came on! Maybe he's in there."

"Blimey!"

Wheatley was tackled from behind and pinned to his chest in moments. Startled, he turned around to face his adversary: it was the burned corpse, parasite and all, about to dig into his chest with a deformed, clawed hand. He screamed and caught the hand at the wrist before it did any damage. The skin was pale, cold and very thin. Absolutely disgusting. He twisted the arm and it easily ripped off at the elbow; the monster paused as he tried to push it off with no luck. With him distracted, the creature stabbed into his shoulder with the other arm, using his body as a support. Pain shot through his upper body like lightning. This new degree of physical pain was exhilarating as it was hurtful.

In retrospect, he really shouldn't have left the city. Come to think of it, he shouldn't have left Chell! Sure, she had kicked him out of the apartment, but he could have just apologized to her, or at least waited for both of them to calm down. She had taken his earlier apology, and that was for much worse than a little outburst! And frankly, he would prefer a bruised jaw over being dead and alone.

A thunderous gunshot exploded not give feet away from him as the alien parasite- along with the head of its decaying host- were blown to pieces and splattered against the far wall.

A man in a gas mask and police uniform stood behind the dead body with a shotgun in both hands. Chell was behind him, much to Wheatley's surprise. The soldier called to his squad up the stairs, but everything was silent among this ringing in his ears. Chell rushed up to him and kneeled by his side. He could see tears in her eyes.

• • •

"So... am I still going to jail?" Wheatley asked.

"Absolutely," answered officer Dallas coldly, "You almost got yourself killed out there last night."

"How long will I be locked up?"

"Probably two to three months. You only brought danger to yourself, after all." He glanced at Wheatley's bandaged shoulder.

The two approached an old prison block where Chell was waiting outside one of the cells. Much of the electrical parts here had been replaced and (most likely) improved with complex cobalt machinery that really blended in with the blue-green color scheme of the room.

"I'll give you two a couple minutes," he told Wheatley and Chell before stepping back a few feet and observing.

"Sorry I left," he said.

"Sorry I kicked you out." She replied sincerely.

"I realized that I really _do_ need you," he confessed, "I don't know what came over me, luv. I just got mad over something so... pointless."

"Same here. Well, the first part, anyway. I'm just happy you're okay after your encounter with that- zombie thing. I really like having you around, Wheatley."

Happiness filled him from the head down: a type of happiness he had never truly felt until now. As a personality core it was one thing, but as a human being, it was so different! It was not only emotionally pleasing, but even physically as well.

"Thanks."

Officer Dallas held up his wrist and tapped it, motioning them to hurry up.

"I've gotta wrap this up," Wheatley said, "so I just wanted to at again that I'm sorry. For everything I've done to you."

He was answered with a tight embrace.

"I accept your apology," she said, "everybody makes mistakes."

"Well, what can I say? I'm only human."


End file.
